Suddenly, Ecdysiast
by Lamia-Kuei
Summary: An accidental cultural misunderstanding brings Sparatus and Hannah Shepard together. First posted on the kmeme.
1. Chapter 1

Garrus Vakarian knew all about strange. Well. Maybe not ALL about it, only asari could come close to maybe claiming to know all about any one thing, and that was just a biological factor of their lifespans. However, it was also a fact that in his time he had all sorts of weird, frightening, improbable experiences and by the time he'd helped dispatch the Thorian, he'd adopted an equanimity about strangeness that wasn't very turian of him at all.

It was a very useful trait, as he was in the middle of the strangest conversation with Councilor Sparatus.

Garrus' official entry into the ranks of Spectres was a mere courtesy after the Reaper War; there was no question about it.

Through chance and careful maneuvering, Shepard and Sparatus developed a cordial working relationship with each other. It mostly involved using Garrus as a go between, because only he, having been with Shepard out in the field, could interpret her actions later in reports that weren't too likely to give the Councilors fits.

He was standing in Sparatus' private office. That alone indicated some sort of import; that Sparatus wanted privacy that Garrus now knew was ill-afforded by conventional communications technology. Liara would see and hear all.

Sparatus lead off with inquiring as to what humans found humorous. Garrus was confused right from the start and proceeded to ramble (probably very unhelpfully) about various things he'd overheard over the years on the Normandy, how overall, things like flatulence seemed to be humorous across species, but things with specific cultural implications couldn't.

Sparatus had wanted less generality and more specificity.

Shepard? Well, ah, she found it amusing whenever he managed to say something that seemed perfectly normal in his head but came out as some kind of absurdly colorful piece of innuendo. Things of the moment, unstudied and embarrassing, were funny to her. But not, he hastened to explain, ever hurtful. Shepard never wanted to put anybody in a truly embarrassing situation.

Some people liked to trick or frighten others with pranks, but Shepard isn't like that.

Sparatus allowed a long pause after, as he considered what he had heard.

"What about her response to not getting things her way?"

...Hm. Was this some sort of peer evaluation, Garrus wondered.

She doesn't like disappointments, Garrus answered forthrightly. Mission success is very important to her. But of course, she also understood very well that not all things could come together, that uncontrollable circumstances happened. She was a lot better at coming to terms than himself, Garrus humbly admitted. He had a lot to learn from her in that respect.

"What about personal matters? Not on duty?"

Ah? Garrus blinked. Huh.

He thought back on how she'd lost the color on her cheeks after speaking with Ashley on Horizon. How brittle the whole situation was, how he'd wanted to hover, to do something about it. But unable to, because at that time, it wasn't his place or business.

She'd pull herself together and get on, he told Sparatus. People say things that they regret later, she'd told me. She's always ready to forgive or at least to set matters aside.

Oh. Wait. That sounds sort of sociopathic. Regroup.

She works through her negative emotions with meditation. She learned that from an asari Justicar. Soaking in a hot bath for really long time, that's apparently therapeutic for her. She spars with me.

Garrus can't tell if this new pause from Sparatus was better or worse.

"Whose idea was it for the two of you to be together?"

Who- the- What? Now wait just one minute!

It's Garrus' turn to start a great long pause, because this isn't supposed to get that far into their personal lives. He stared at Sparatus, who was staring right back.

"I don't have to answer that," Garrus settled on using the tone for deterring news reporters.

"No," Sparatus surprisingly agreed. "And I don't ask for prurient reasons, Spectre."

"Just what, historical reasons?" Garrus replied skeptically.

Sparatus' mandibles clenched. Well, he's aggravated, Garrus sighed to himself. Great.

"I don't doubt the sincerity of your relationship, Spectre. Which isn't, as you stated, my concern, barring a sudden decline in effectiveness. Rather."

And here Sparatus made another pause.

"It is that you are in a unique situation and I have need of your knowledge of it. Before I can make a decision about my own potential situation."

Whoa. Wait. Whoa. What?

Sparatus endured Garrus' spastic mandible fluttering as he finally understood his words.

"Uh. Um," Garrus coughed. "Shepard isn't a typical example of her species, sir. And actually, statistically, a sample of one is useless, you know-"

"Vakarian!"

"Shepard started it. Uh. Maybe."

Sparatus made an impatient mandible flick.

"Spectre, I begin to wonder how it is possible for your reports to be so full of clarity and your speech to be so full of... otherwise."

"If you go by who made the first, actual, very-clear-I've-got-a-proposition come on? It's her. But that's in response to me, making a I-hope-I'm-interpreting-this-right-I'm-so-bad-at-flirting move. And I did that because we were just..."

Garrus shrugged helplessly.

"Muddling along. Watching her. Watching me. Watching her. Tali, uh, Admiral Tali'zorah, said that it was all very amusing, but get a move on before she electrocuted the both of us. So."

"The threat of electrocution does tend to give one impetus for action," Sparatus finally said.

Dryly.

"I have much to consider. You have been helpful. Thank you, Spectre. You may go."

Since it was clear that it wasn't a peer evaluation after all and therefore he could speak to Shepard about it, he did so over dinner.

"That must be so uncomfortable for you," Shepard said sympathetically.

"He's not my father," Garrus shrugged. "Could be worse."

"Right."

They ate in comfortable silence. Shepard made an amused sound.

"Hm?"

"I wonder who she is. The human who made a move on the Councilor and he doesn't know what to do so he asks the only turian in a relationship with a human he knows. During work hours."

"It's not that big of a deal."

"Oh, yes, it is. He called you in during WORK hours."

Okay, Garrus had to concede that it was actually highly irregular for a turian who meant business.

"Oh, no," Garrus shook his head. "Here we go. The idea is in your mind and you've turned it into a mission."

"You have to be curious too," Shepard grinned.

"Aha. But it concerns his private life and we aren't prying."

"No, we won't," Shepard agreed.

She politely let Garrus finish drinking.

"Kasumi and Liara will, obviously. That's more their skill set."

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

After perhaps a week, in which Garrus was very sure that this was taking the first step towards Evil and that they were doomed, why did they have to do this? And Shepard assured him it wasn't Evil because she actually, sort of, maybe, didn't view Sparatus as the enemy so much as a hardass boss who she just needed to understand as a person. And what better sort of understanding than dating woes? It's pretty universal!

Let it be known that he was entirely skeptical, Garrus replied.

Kasumi was in their home office and Liara was connected with a live vidfeed.

"I'm just warning you, this might be disturbing," Kasumi announced.

"It concerns your mother," Liara added.

"...WHAT."

Garrus just started coughing.

Shepard narrowed her eyes at Kasumi and Liara in turn.

"You two are joking."

"Am not."

"I wouldn't Shepard," Liara shook her head.

"It's... A funny kind of misunderstanding," Kasumi smiled.

"We'll see about that," Shepard steeled herself. "Run it."

"We open the scene at an Alliance Navy Ball. It is in the grand tradition of human military balls," Kasumi narrates over a montage of the making of the Ceremonial Punch.

"Wait. Wait, is it me, or is that just a random assortment of alcohol being mixed together in a giant bowl?" Garrus tilts his head.

Entire bottles are being poured in, one after another.

"Yep," Shepard nods. "It's not a Punch unless there's at least nine different varieties mixed in."

"... And suddenly I understand why ryncol doesn't really bother you. That must taste awful."

"Party hearty," Shepard replied.

Garrus watched in fascination as the highest ranking officer in attendance was made to chug a whole mug of the undoubtedly vile and flammable concoction. The Punch was declared ready and attendees actually began to line up as a bartender began ladling out the Punch into cups.

"Okay, you all might be interested in this, but it's old hat for me," Shepard finally said. "Where's the Councilor?"

The event was covered by different video drones. Kasumi and Liara had between the two of them acquired the raw footage and edited it especially for viewing.

"Here, we can see that the Councilors and representatives of various Citadel species military units are guests," Liara paused the feed every so often and overlaid the image with indicative arrows.

"Your mother is seated directly across from Councilor Sparatus."

"... She's wearing a dress. She's not in uniform," Shepard pointed. "Why's that?"

"... We don't know."

Shepard continued to watch the footage. She guessed that given the way Liara and Kasumi worked, she wasn't going to receive the actual point on a platter. People were eating through the duration of a speech. Shepard was watching Sparatus.

She was on her way to bored, when Garrus suddenly put both hands to his eyes.

"Eeeeaaah," he cried out.

"What did you see!? WHAT!?"

Kasumi giggled.

"What's going on!?"

Garrus hazarded a peek from between his fingers for a few seconds, before ducking down.

"I can't even- Shepard, that's your mother!"

Shepard was swiveling her head back and forth from the screen to Garrus, alarmed and confused.

"Stop the vid! Somebody explain RIGHT NOW."

"It happened! It happened!" Garrus unhelpfully exclaimed.

"What in- She didn't even SAY anything!" Shepard poked him on the arm.

Garrus was simply stuck at unintelligible mandible fluttering and embarrassment noises. Shepard resorted to glaring at Kasumi.

"Okay, Shep. Backing up. ... Stop. Start."

"Kasumi-"

"There."

"She's just eating."

Liara threw her hands up and began furiously typing on her end.

The footage was further altered. It split into two; one perspective on Sparatus, one perspective on Hannah Shepard. Or rather, Hannah Shepard's hands.

She was wearing long, old fashioned opera length gloves, that were so fitted they had little rows of buttons at the insides of her wrists to allow her to put them on.

The audio of the speech turned into an almost elcor-like quality, as Liara slowed the video feed for emphasis.

It droned on as Hannah put her fork down.

Hanna reached over with one hand and undid a button. Seconds ticked by, as she undid one after another, slowly (it had to be the slow down, right? It didn't take 15 seconds to undo a button!). It seemed like she wanted symmetry, because she then started to undo the buttons of her other glove, also in that slow pace.

What is she doing? Shepard wondered. She hazarded a look at the feed concentrated on the Councilor.

"He looks like he's going to have an aneurysm!"

"In his pants," Garrus unhelpfully added.

Shepard was about to elbow him, when Hannah began tugging at a glove, loosening it from her hand starting from the pinky up.

And there it was.

The button business made no sense. But this? Shit. Shit, this was just _burlesque_. Hannah made a smooth pull of her glove off her hand, dropped it on her lap, and did the same with the other. The second glove barely came free, when Councilor Sparatus abruptly stood up from his seat and fled.

Fled, while Hannah, without a care in the world, began to scratch lightly at some itch on the palms of her hands.

"Oh. Crap," Shepard breathed.

Garrus hazarded a glance at her from between his shielding fingers. Just looking at him, sitting there hunched over, with his hands, his hands that were very properly clothed with gloves, which were apparently a big fucking deal because he was a turian and Sparatus was a turian and her MOM just went and- and-

Shepard made a hysterical sound that was half marine grunt and squawk of laughter.

"But she was just ITCHY," Shepard cried out. "What are we going to do now!?"

"That's a very good question," Garrus finally said.

"It's all a misunderstanding," Shepard muttered.

"I know."

"But he's going to do something. The only reason he asked you is because he's going to do something."

"I know."

"He's going to do something about my MOM."

"I know."

"You are NOT helping me right now."

"I know!" Garrus finally put his hands down. "Why are we yelling?"

"You know what I think is a good idea? A drink for all us!" Kasumi went for the kitchen.

"I'm signing off," Liara shook her head. "Good luck with that."

"He wouldn't believe it," Garrus was peering into the depths of his glass.

"He could."

"Nope. I am telling you. In that moment, your Mom was a- a savant. Asari can take decades if they like turians figuring out how to pull off-"

Kasumi snickered.

"Ahem. Obtain, by action alone, a man's attention. She had it."

"But we know it's a complete accident."

"But if we tell him that, he'll just think you don't approve of him and then where would our working relationship go? Devolved back to air quotes and sarcasm. I don't like that, and you liked it even less!"

Shepard sighed and took a drink.

"Well, I can't just call Mom and be all, 'Hi, Mom. Everything's great. By the way, you just may have an amorous turian on your hands, because ooh la la, you pulled your gloves off in front of him-"

"In public. That's racier," Kasumi added.

"so can you let him down gently because he's one of my bosses? Thanks!" Shepard put her head down on the table.

"If only he wasn't sitting between two salarians, we could plausibly say that she was going after somebody seated next to him," Garrus lamented.

"Why aren't the two of you considering that he'd try to contact her to say no, thanks?" Kasumi finally asked.

Garrus and Shepard looked at each other. Then they looked at her.

"Hey, now. That's my Mom you're talking about."

"You saw the video evidence!"

"Okay," Kasumi held up her hands. "But, given the choices, which are, Do nothing-"

"Nope."

"Tell the Councilor-"

"Double nope."

"and Tell your mother, it's just that, isn't it?"

"Ugh. Okay, fine. I will warn Mom about Councilor Sparatus contacting her," Shepard finished her drink. "It will be awful and embarrassing."

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

"Hi, Mom."

"Hello, dear. This is a nice surprise. Are you back on the Citadel?"

"Yes, I am."

"That's good. You look well."

"Thanks."

Shepard bit her lip.

"About the Citadel. I heard there was a Navy Ball not too long ago."

"Oh, yes, there was! I'm so sorry you had to miss it. I think I have some nice pictures if you want me to send them over."

"That'll be great. So. I also heard the Councilors were there."

"Yes. Between the speeches and the eating and dancing, I just didn't have any chance to speak with any of them. I did meet some fun STG, though."

"They can be," Shepard agreed. "I called because of one of the Councilors, actually. Sparatus."

"Which one is that?"

"The turian Councilor."

"I think he was at my table. Yes, he was. What about him?"

"I heard some talk. It looks like, well, he might call you."

"Oh, dear. Does it have to do with you? Because if you're in trouble-"

"No, no. I'm not. I just heard that he might have thought that you were flirting with him and that he'd call."

"Well."

Hannah pursed her lips, trying to recall if she in fact did flirt with him.

"I can't say that makes sense. I only just said hello, when we were all seated. Didn't say a word otherwise."

"That..." Shepard winced inwardly. Keep it broad. That's it. "Turians have certain gestures that they interpret as flirting, so-"

"Oh. Oh, is it like accidentally bidding on something at auction because you scratched your ear? Oh, dear," Hannah laughed a little.

"Something like that."

"If he calls, then he calls," Hannah shrugged. "It's not like I even know the man."

And because no matter how long they've been apart, Shepard's dubious facial expression caused Hannah some alarm.

"Is there something I should know about him?"

"He's a little rigid-"

"Only a little?" Hannah raised an eyebrow.

And then, her daughter's face went blazing red and Hannah couldn't help laughing.

"... Mom!" Shepard wailed, trying to regain composure.

"... Go on, then," Hannah put a hand to her mouth.

"I mean," Shepard set her mouth in a line. "That as a Councilor, he's not too much on compromising. Though he has gotten better about it and trusting my judgment. I just know him as one of my bosses. He- He's not Garrus. That's what I wanted to say."

Hannah nodded. He wasn't Garrus. She hadn't gotten to know Garrus too well, but there was more than enough time to see that he had a sense of humor and made her daughter enormously happy.

"We'll see when we get there. He might not even go through with doing anything. Right?"

"Let's just say I've worked with turians enough to know when something becomes an action item."

"Alright. Then tell me what to expect. You seem nervous. Have I offended him by accident?"

Her daughter shrugged.

"He wouldn't be rude about it. You're my Mom," Shepard grinned. "He'd be in trouble. No matter that he's one of my bosses."

Hannah smiled back.

"Then in that case, I'll just use my own judgment. Can't say I've been dating, but I'm sure I haven't forgotten all of it."

"Mom, are you okay with the idea of him calling you?"

"I don't know, actually," Hannah replied after some thought. "Maybe I wouldn't be if I didn't have your example."

"Fair enough."

They then chatted some more before saying goodbye. All in all, it didn't turn out to be quite the ordeal Shepard thought it would be.

After the call, Hannah took the time to look Sparatus up on the extranet. The photos jogged her memory. He was striking to look at and actually, now that she was looking, it was just too bad she didn't have an opinion of him from the Navy Ball. She was also not insensible to what an occasion it was to have a man in his position pay attention to her.

"I still got it," she smiled to herself.

It was in fact, such a rare sort of occasion that she couldn't quite believe it all the way, though her daughter was such a truth teller. Hannah shrugged to herself. Until he calls, it's all rather hypothetical.

Sparatus doesn't want to remember. He's spent too much time, actually, remembering. On some sort of strange autopilot, he'd just sit and his eyes shut and he's back in that room again.

He has been aware that he moved in a rarefied bubble, where he encounters few humans and of those humans, he has only known the extraordinary, by way of skill in the case of those in the military, or by way of raw ambition when it came to politics.

Here, all rank levels of the Alliance Navy were represented. He has the opportunity, like he has never had before, to observe humans of the military; he knows the insignias of rank.

They are like and unalike, familiar and not to turians. Here, a small group of enlisted who were friends, and they moved like the strong young men and women that they are. There, an even smaller line of the higher ranked officers, standing with their spouses. They are greeted by those below them in rank, as is proper.

It is all rather ordinary. Except that in a way, even the lowest ranked guest here is not ordinary, for they were of the 3% of humanity who volunteered.

He makes his way to his table. He is sharing the meal with Admirals, some STG and asari commandos. He makes just the slightest pause when he is introduced to Admiral Shepard.

While they sit and go through the first speech (first of many, if he knew formal occasions) he looks at her. There is something of Spectre Shepard in her looks. She is not in dress uniform. She's chosen to appear in a long gown and he is suddenly curious as to why she chose to be different.

There is a ceremony involving flags.

There is a somber ceremony, wherein the humans honored the spirits of the dead from battle. It is yet another thing that Sparatus had not known would feel familiar to him.

There is, unfortunately, another speech.

And then, there was the ludicrous creation of something he would not even deign to consider a cocktail, called the Ceremonial Punch. The humans present laughed and whooped and made great fuss as more and more varieties of alcohol were added to the mix. There was some pretense towards tradition for each choice, but it clearly must be a tale, as actual tradition would be more proper, surely. He was mildly shocked when in what seemed like ritualized torture, the youngest lieutenant in the room was marched up to the concoction and made to sample it. As a test. He drank.

And collapsed backwards towards the floor.

Sparatus nearly rose in alarm, when one of the STG operatives sitting next to him put a hand on his shoulder.

"No worry. Pantomime. Traditional. Establishes a symbolic baseline toxicity of the Punch."

Sparatus had only a moment to compose himself when one of the Admirals at his table stood up and made their way to the punch. He spoke what seemed to be a rehearsed speech, a boast about how no mere green stripling could take measure of the Punch; this was to be done by a seasoned warrior.

How absolutely krogan this whole spectacle was, he thought, as the Admiral was given a mug of that stuff and the whole room made a cheer that was near deafening as he drank it all down without stopping for breath. The Admiral slammed the mug down and emitted a short bark of a war cry, which the room immediately echoed.

After this feat of strength, an actual line formed from guests vying for a cup of the Punch.

Sparatus could see that the Admiral who was the example was already turning an alarming shade of red and was tilting a little in his chair. He waved off any assistance, laughing that all he needed was some protein and he could go back for seconds.

What insane bravado. Sparatus was mildly impressed.

He listened with some interest to the guest next to him elaborating that in gatherings like these, it was all secure part of tradition; the youngest LT and the highest ranking officer the organizers of the gathering could get their hands on. This particular Ball was large, in celebration of the Alliance Navy as a whole. Smaller affairs were down to ship level; frigates like the Normandy.

… Given the way the guests were downing cups of the Punch, he suddenly gained epiphany behind the catastrophic antics of Shepard's horrid Normandy Reunion Parties.

He looked across the table to Admiral Shepard, in her beautiful gown, and the knowledge that even she, as ladylike in that moment as Tevos, at least once a year, would as a duty of her rank, guzzle down something akin to ryncol made him stare incredulously.

When the line was dispersed, their food was served and people settled into eating and conversation.

It was an unfortunate constant with catering that the food was merely acceptable. His steak had the odd audacity to be both under and overcooked, which he could not account for. Well. Unless precisely half of the grill was working, he thought. That would explain it.

He got most of it down, to a comfortable level of fullness, when he had the grave misfortune of looking up.

It wasn't as if Admiral Shepard made any move to explicitly gain his attention.

No, he'd gone over it enough to make a drell bored; she wasn't even looking at him.

She'd brought one hand to her wrist and undid a button.

What was the meaning of this?

He watched, as she continued, bit by bit undoing those buttons, flashing a little bit of slim wrist as she went.

He glanced around, fearfully. Nobody was noticing. How was this possible?

She had no more buttons to undo.

Sparatus glared at her, most severely, but she didn't even look up, as she, and Sparatus remembered that he was quite choking from surprise, started teasing open her other glove.

Oh. Oh, Spirits, this was just too, too- too much!

The heat of the room started to overcome him, the droning of the speech, the dull roar of conversation all around him, the flickering lights from the dining table centerpieces, it all made a surreal cushion on all his senses.

Except for sight, and he was bewitched by what he was seeing.

She was undressing-!

One pull, one more, and that long glove slid right off of her arm and she was so exposed, he felt a lurch in the whole of his body. He could've whimpered.

She kept up her tortures, the cruel temptress, and he remembered just a glimpse of her other hand, naked, right before he made his escape.

Oh, he cursed mentally, as he looked down. He'd gone and undone his pants while thinking about it.

Stop right this moment, he chastised himself.

It wasn't any good.

His seam was parted already and he let go, feeling terrifically dirty as he traced it, parted it more, and pretended that when his cock slid out into his grip that it was actually in her hands.

Why? He cried out wordlessly as his eyes dropped shut and he sped up, tensing up in the thighs.

He knew. It was like some ridiculous, unbelievable scenario out of Fornax; something about being in public, it was always in public, and- and the lady, because she was the height of propriety, would lead you on, get your guard down, make you think nothing was untoward, but it was all a delicious trick, because she'd get you in the end, she'd start by stripping out of her gloves, and she'd come to you and touch you, you must not move or make any sound, they'd notice and it would be so shameful- so awful they'd see you in her hands- you don't want anybody but her seeing you when you come-

"Hsh-!" Sparatus arched hard as he shot.

He lay still, only his mandibles making little twitches.

But it was real, he treacherously remembered. Not something in a magazine, he had known life before seeing her hands and now he knew life after seeing them. And right now? His mind spun out, deliriously greedy for the possibilities, the many ways it could've played out, imagination and memory making a kind of special Punch all on its own to blow his sensibleness away.

He stretched and rolled over, slowly.

How am I ever going to get any work done now, he thought, as he fell asleep.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

"Admiral Shepard, you are requested for the comm room, by the Council."

"The Council?"

There was no further reply from the ship VI. Hannah made her way, wondering just what her daughter had been up to that they needed to have a conference with her mother. That's something you thought you were finished with past grade school; parent conferences.

When the doors slid shut behind her, she didn't see any holograms besides that of Councilor Sparatus.

She stopped.

Oh.

"Hello, Councilor."

Seemed a safe enough start.

She walked in closer to the mark where the sensors were so that he could actually see her image himself.

"Admiral Shepard. I know that the both of us are busy, with many things that require our attention. So I will be brief."

Hannah made a nod.

"When you have cause to dock at the Citadel again, will you allow me to meet with you?"

Well, what do you know?

"I would," Hannah said clearly. "But I have to warn you, we won't have need to return until a month from now."

"I can wait."

The hologram was doing a poor job at recreating his deep green eyes, but doing a fine job at recreating the intensity of his gaze. Hannah's mouth quirked a little.

"A man with patience. I like that. See you then, Councilor."

"Likewise, Admiral."

The connection closed. Hannah wondered for a second if getting asked out on a date by a Councilor fell under opsec. She put her hands to her cheeks for a moment. Why, she hadn't been looked at by any man like that in... well, quite a while! And even though humans could get to 150, humanity was not quite ready for it. You turned invisible when you hit 40 if you were a woman. Damper on your social life. Add in being in the military and a military widow, and the past war, it was something that just... disappeared.

Hannah had not liked that. There were more important things to think about during war, but thankfully it was in the past now, and when the Alliance Navy Ball was scheduled, Hannah chose to pull out all the stops and splurged on a gown that showed that her figure was still fighting weight and that she was going to forge on, welcoming possibilities.

Hannah grinned to herself. Old saying; Tall, dark and handsome, but what a twist!

She set her face to neutral before she exited the comm room. She'd need to come up with a list of questions to ask her daughter later. No telling how fast things could go. And she was past the age where you even needed to worry about being fast as a woman.

So, yes. Full throttle it is.

A month was strangely too long a time to wait and too short a period of time to get ready. Sparatus could tell no one of his call to Admiral Shepard. Hannah. If he succeeded, they would have cause for familiarity of address. He'd been given hope by Vakarian that firstly, it was no joke, no attempt to discomfit him for malicious reasons. Caution caused him to then ascertain whether or not rejection on his part would result in fallout that would affect two individual Spectres. He had a feeling that Shepard was taught well about filial loyalty (she turned out to have a natural grasp on the concepts of martial loyalty, after all) and displeasure from her mother could be... a diplomatic incident. And Vakarian went where Shepard led.

And lastly... Lastly, he snorted a little remembering Vakarian's dithering about statistics. He was not interested in finding out how forward or not other human women were. He was interested in one particular woman, and families had their ways that passed on, parent to child. Shepard's intractable tendency towards rushing headlong into her goals had to come from somewhere. And why shouldn't it come from a woman who was daring, brazen enough to show him in the middle of a crowded ballroom that-

Sparatus shook his head, knocking himself out of a daydream.

He liked that about her. Nobody else had even dared. His call only cemented more of his interest. She was welcoming, but not effusive. Professional. Forthright. And just when he'd been thinking that he had taken too long to contact her, that perhaps her interest had waned from his tardiness, she'd given him a little smile, and he'd been around asari enough to know all about _that_.

This was the inspiration behind asking Tevos on her opinion on the various dining establishments in the Presidium. As well as he knew dextro fare, he wasn't about to end up taking Admiral Shepard to a place that would leave her cold. He needed assistance. She had suggested a little outdoor cafe that wasn't as grand an establishment as Sparatus would have liked.

"Be that it may," Tevos said decidedly. "The best sweet drinks are made there, and there are human-styled pastries that I find novel and delicious. I even think there is some cache to the kind of pastries they make. Certainly the human tourists I have overheard there are very enthusiastic about them. Especially the women."

Tevos fondly ignored Sparatus' sudden glare at her, as always, before taking her leave. She was right, of course. The cafe made a very nice cup of kava at the least, when he went to do a trial of it. If they made it as well as that for their levo fare, it was as good as could be.

He knew the absolute minute her ship was docked. That started a chain reaction as his assistants were then made to call and confirm that the cafe was open, that yes, they did have everything today, to reserve a table (But they don't do that, it's just a small cafe-), that the path to the cafe was currently clear of any obstructions, up to and including nuisance hanar evangelists, and furthermore, nobody was to contact him for the next two hours unless it was something that absolutely needed all four Councilors present.

He'd been nervous of how it would be taken for him to be at the dock, waiting for her and the curious glances of the personnel who passed him made him even more nervous.

But then she stepped out and he forgot to be nervous about that at all.

tbc


	5. Chapter 5

Hannah didn't really understand what the deal was with asari and maxidresses. The idea that she'd have to pick up her skirts in order to not trip over herself should she need to run was distasteful. Not to mention it meant that she was no longer hands free for a weapon.

Oh, wait, they were biotics, after all. They didn't need to hold anything, so much as look at what they were aiming for.

Still. The fashion was not to her liking.

She smoothed the sides of her dress; it was bought new along with her gown. Serendipity. It wasn't a torso full of holes like some other dresses she'd seen. It was appropriate.

She hoped that he'd think she'd look nice in it.

She was just thinking that she could call her daughter or Garrus after finding her bearings and go about figuring out how to even get to the Presidium, when she saw him waiting for her.

I really shouldn't be impressed that a man has the common sense to find me, Hannah thought to herself. But there I go.

"Councilor," she smiled as she approached.

"Admiral," he inclined his head. "Shall we?"

They get into a private aircar and they are driven to the Presidium. On the way, he asks careful questions of how her last run went, fully aware of the limitations of her possible answers because of opsec. She asks him questions about his work. She once heard her daughter joke that if there was ever a thing turians could gab about, it was work.

He obliged and she found that it was actually fascinating coming from his point of view. There were even some references to her daughter, she was sure. He liked her. Well, not really liked her, but esteemed her for her work and trusted that her motivations were good and aboveboard. Sounded great to Hannah.

They walked through the Presidium, instead of taking the aircar all the way. Hannah took in the length of the park, the way there was no horizon on the great station, only the upward curve that fought with the way one thought of seeing in perspective.

"Are there plants from Palaven or the colonies here?" she asked.

Sparatus nodded.

"Specimens were brought in during the rebuilding. I had thought that it was something that could be put off. Aesthetics seemed... extraneous."

"We do not fight just for bread, but for roses, too," Hannah paraphrased.

Sparatus tilted his head as the translation came through and blinked, before looking at her thoughtfully.

"There should always be something set aside, in peace, shouldn't there? Something beautiful like a place like this, so that it is more real."

"Yes. Yes, I think that's worthy."

They walked on.

He looked at her, looking to see her opinion of the place he had chosen to take her.

"Oh, it's darling!" Hannah exclaimed. "Look at those little tables and umbrellas. It's so... so French!"

The place seemed to reach into a part of her that she's forgotten. Watching old vids like Umbrellas of Cherbourg, that old romance of Paris. The nostalgia that wasn't an actual part of her past rose up in her, as the proprietors must have designed. She walked back and forth in front of the glass display case, entranced by the pastries, gazing up at the menu boards that were actually written in chalk.

Sparatus stood a little aside, already having made up his mind on what he would get. He stood and watched her and what a picture he would've made if some paparazzi had happened by; his mandibles relaxed and his eyes alight with amusement.

She ordered a cup of hot chocolate with cream and a sampler box of macarons.

She didn't notice that Sparatus had not attempted to resume their conversation. She trailed her fingers over the macarons.

"Let's see. Which one first," she murmured.

She made her selection and eased it slowly between her teeth, cupping it with her napkin. It wouldn't do to have crumbs flying all over the place.

The first hit of cream and sweet made her giggle and sigh.

She took a drink of hot chocolate and the richness of it made her lick her lips.

Everything was so wonderful, it was a sore distraction that diverted her attention.

One of her long socks had gotten twisted and sagged in her boot. She put her treat down and turned a little to the side, hitching her skirt up. She undid the zip, and set her long sock to rights, pulling it up, and smoothing it properly along her calf, before zipping up and dropping her skirt in place.

She resumed with another bite, finishing the first macaron, making another sigh, watching the people pass by on the street.

Sparatus was sure he was about to expire.

His hands were numb. Was that the sign of a heart attack?

It was so harmless, at first. She'd approved quite vocally of the cafe. She'd made an order and when he'd got his kava and took a seat, he was about to speak to her, but then he noticed her hands again.

Toying with the pastries in a very naughty manner.

He'd thought she'd stop there, just a little flirt, but no, of course not, not this woman, she goes and makes sounds that are brimming with promise and- and-

I don't have a thing for dressing. I can't possibly. Everybody has a thing for UN-dressing, what kind of perversion is this-

He sees her leg, near bare and she's covering it back up and he wants his hands there, he wants to taste her there and then it's back out of sight, as neat as you please and he wants to howl.

He manages to take a drink of his kava and it jolts him out of it. Thank the spirits.

"I'm so glad to be here. Thank you," Hannah says to him.

"Oh, no, pleasure's aaaall mine," Sparatus purrs at her and when she blushes and smiles he could kick himself.

Stupid!

She picks up another macaron and eats it, not breaking his gaze and his insides are writhing from anticipation.

She can't possibly eat the whole box of them here, could she? So slowly?

Of course she can, Sparatus thinks. She's got you right where she wants and you love it, you love every second of it.

"Where do you plan on going next?" Hannah asks.

She's heard from others and her daughter that truthfulness was a general trait of turians. With some like Garrus, it came across as hilarious foot in mouth disease from time to time.

"I plan to take you home with me," he'd said, leaning close, saying it softly, so that only she could hear. "Would you be amenable to that? Say yes, please. I couldn't bear it if you don't."

This? Heat wave in her drive core, that's what. She exhaled.

She puts the lid on the box of macarons, ties the ribbon up to secure it, and wipes her mouth.

"I like that plan," she stands up.

tbc


	6. Chapter 6

His place is nice. Hannah doesn't know too much about architecture and hasn't had very many friends who lived in actual apartments on stations, but the Councilor's been put up in very nice digs, even she can tell. She looks out of a window in his bedroom and they are in a tower so high that it's like a carpet of lights spreading out at her feet.

He comes up behind her and he leans in, pressing the side of his face into her neck. His hide is warm and rough and he's making this continuous low noise in his chest, thrumming. He slowly settles his hands on her hips.

She's spoken with her daughter. Some things were made clear. Other things were not so clear, because even though they are both salty marines, a barrier of embarrassment lays between them. It's okay. So let's see if she can do this.

She lays a hand over his and takes the time to explore, to circle his knuckles with the tips of her fingers, to feel the difference of three fingers. His grip on her tightens suddenly and then he relaxes because he doesn't want to hurt her. She turns a little so that she can see him, but still in his hands.

His gloves are simple. She picks his hand up and tugs on his second finger. His hand opens. She does it again, raising his hand up and putting her teeth at the loosened end on his first finger and pulling. She draws him out with her teeth and his hand is trembling, that deep grinding thrum goes louder.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes and smiles, picking up his other hand. His eyes close for a minute and his mandibles pull in tight before going slack. She does it again and at the end, his hands twitch for a moment. His claws glint in the light. She presses her cheek to one palm and kisses it. It's warm.

"Don't tear my dress," Hannah's voice is low and sure. "I'd be very upset."

The thrum hitches with amusement as he turns her around and finds the long zipper in the back. She pulls her hair out of the way as he draws it down and he leans in and there's a press of his lip plates against the back of her neck. It is as her daughter says; there's more give to them than they look. He unzips her all the way and instead of peeling her out of the dress immediately, he lays his palms flat on her back, feeling her, petting her.

He's very warm. He gets to her obstructing bra, examines it for a moment, before undoing it as well.

She steps away from him, turning to face him, and lowers the dress down to the floor and steps out of them. For every step he takes towards her, she takes one back, until she's backed up to his bed. She glances over her shoulder and lets herself drop onto his covers.

She catches him on the middle of his pounce with her boot, the point of her toe digging into his neck, her heel hooked onto the rim of his cowl.

The thrum turns into a growl and his mandibles flare.

"No," Hannah grinds her heel down a little and there's a little scraping noise against his plates. "I'm not all the way undressed, am I?"

He blinks once, twice. Hannah gives him a little push with her boot and he backs up. She lays there and stretches a little, watching him as reaches out and takes a hold of the zipper on her boot and pulls. He gets it off and drops it to the side. She smiles at him as he does the same for the other. She's in her socks now and he runs the pad of a finger lightly over the fabric.

He can tell that it's fragile and he carefully, carefully, gets one and then the other down her calves to her ankles. He can't help it; he lifts one leg up and gives it a long lick, mandibles fluttering. Once she's out, he steps away so that he can undress.

Closures part where she doesn't expect and it all looks very complicated. His pants are nothing short of an engineering mystery when it comes to clearing his spurs. She looks at his arousal and it is like him, very alien. Hannah doesn't feel one bit of hesitation.

He kneels between her legs once again, licking and petting upwards, feeling out the muscles, and he's looking at the last thing in his way; her panties. They look even more delicate than her socks and he glances at her. He actually looks worried.

Hannah giggles and reaches out to pet his neck.

"I'll get this one."

Sparatus would really like to stop feeling like he was on the verge of cardiac arrest. He implored any spirits who would listen most fervently to do something about his heart. He's not that old, the lady is so very willing, and he's going to take the memory of her slipping her lower undergarment off like the gift that it was, just please, could somebody do something about the pounding in his ears, he can't endure it anymore.

She touches his neck again, making him shiver, and asks if he is fine.

Yes, yes, he is, just- It's really sort of amazing how much he's shaking from arousal, it's as if he hasn't been spending almost all his waking moments fantasizing and masturbating, fascinating how it was absolutely no fucking help at all for his control-!

He can't even voice it, but she's so understanding, so knowing that she simply takes him in her hand, rolling the head of his cock between her thumb and forefinger.

His voiceboxes disappear into an entirely unhearable register and when she gets him in her hand and squeezes, yes, spirits, so much better than his imaginings-

As her hand moves, her eyes lock onto his and he rolls his hips forward with each stroke, and he feels his mandibles get set, as he tries to keep silent- he has to keep quiet while she's doing this-

"I know you want to yell," she gets on her knees and murmurs in his ear. "Come on. Don't be shy."

Permission-!

He reaches out and crushes her into an embrace as he yells out, uncaring, free, free, trembling, coming, free.

He holds her, hot and panting and Hannah feels quite squished. He loosens his grip and his cock slips right out of her fingers, withdrawing.

"You're so lovely," he finally speaks. "So very lovely, Hannah. I may call you Hannah, right?"

"Do I get to call you Sparatus?"

"Please."

"Yes, you may," Hannah sounded prim and formal, which was entirely at odds with the way she was rubbing herself on him.

He lets her down, so that she can lay in bed again and his head is clear, he can taste and touch now and hear all the little sounds she makes, the smell of her, savor the sight of her taking the slick fluid from his cock and opening her legs to smooth it over herself. It's all a gift.

He asks so that she can tell him how to please her, showing him first with her fingers as he watches and then he's on her, licking and rubbing and she's a sweet writhing treat in his sheets. She's flushed and open. He slides in and she holds on to his cowl like she knows and they move together and he hasn't felt so deep and good in so long, so long.

"Tell me," she says. "Tell me if you're going to come."

He can't think-!

"Tell me," her voice rises and her fingers dig into the more tender hide just under the rim.

"FUCK! Aaahhh-! You-! Hannah! HANNAH!"

His joints feel like they've come undone, unstrung. He starts to move.

"No," she murmurs, kissing his neck. "Stay."

"I'm crushing you."

"You wish."

Sparatus moves to the side, so that not all of his weight is on her anyway.

"I wish," he runs the pads of his fingers over the back of her hand. "To see you again. I must see you again. Have you, again."

Hannah smiles and brushes some hair out of her face.

"Sounds good to me."

finis


End file.
